Out of the Silence
Part 7
See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers and author's ramblings.
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"What do you mean, faith?" T.C. asked.
"He asked me if I had faith." LaCroix laughed, an odd cracked
sound. "I told him I'd seen too much. He said that perhaps then, he
hadn't seen enough. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Nicholas
was ... so determined, so intent on this course. Faith! What
rubbish!" LaCroix spat the words out in caustic anger. "In that
bitter moment when he knelt there looking at the woman he believed he
loved and had killed, he was filled with...such determination, with ... ."
He looked at T.C., pain twisting at his pale visage, as he
struggled to contain his anger...and something else that T.C. couldn't
quite put a name to
"He could have saved them both by saving her," LaCroix hissed,
"brought her across. But he didn't. He chose to let her die, not
condemn her to what he considered to be hell. He was so blind, so
foolish. Not that I wanted her in the family, but better that than ...
this ... ruinous waste! Oh, Nicholas!" LaCroix was silent, his body
rigid, fists clenched as he struggled with a myriad of emotions. His
eyes glittered with rage, hate, pain, and ... love for his long-dead
son.
"Then what?" T.C. asked hesitantly.
LaCroix shook his head and with a twisted grimace spoke, "He
spoke of her *faith* in him and her belief that they could have a life
together, whether in this world or the next. Nicholas told me he had
that *faith*, too."
T.C. listened in amazement.
"I couldn't convince him that life was precious. I couldn't
convince him that his life here and now was better than some intangible
hope--he had this insane idea that there was something better beyond
this world. I told him he couldn't know until it was too late, until
he was dead and couldn't turn back. But he had made his choice and he
was absolutely determined. Damn him!"
T.C. shook his head, knowing he was missing something important
here.
LaCroix watching raised an eyebrow. "You can't understand,
mortal, all that had happened between us over the centuries, and I
choose not to place those memories in front of your naive mind."
"You're right, I don't understand," T.C. said softly,
carefully.
"No, you don't. Nicholas stood there looking at me with tears
in his eyes, holding that stake out to me. I knew what he wanted, and
it burned like the sun that he thought I could do *that*. We'd been at
odds for centuries--I cannot tell you how many times he called me a
monster, how much he abhorred the life I had given him. But nothing
hurt so much as *that* did. I asked him if he thought I was the devil,
and he said..." LaCroix stopped. He closed his eyes as if to shut out
a sight he could not bear. Then he spoke so softly that T.C. strained
to hear it. "He said I was his closest friend."
LaCroix said no more but got up as if he could no longer stand
still, could no longer face his memories. In sudden vicious anger he
picked up a chair and threw it across the room as if it were kindling.
It shattered against the wall and splintered into a heap on the floor.
Dust bloomed up and thickened the air. The agony on his face was
palpable and T.C. felt his heart go into overdrive as LaCroix turned
and pulled him up from his chair. He held T.C. by his shoulders, his
black, raging eyes capturing T.C.'s gaze. "Don't you understand? *I*
killed him!!!" LaCroix closed his eyes and hissed out the words, "He
asked *me* to release him from his pain! He held that stake out to me.
He knew I could not refuse him! He knew ... Damn him!!! ... Damn you,
Nicholas!!!!"
T.C. stared into LaCroix' grief-stricken face and felt the pain
as if it were his own. He'd spent so much time getting inside Nick
Knight's head, so much time coming to know Natalie Lambert, that they'd
become real, they'd become family. And he could've wept for the waste
of it. So much tragedy, so much gone wrong. A modern day Romeo and
Juliet. And LaCroix the grieving father left behind in torment.
T.C. felt tears well up in his own eyes as he stared into
LaCroix' face that was a rictus of pain. After a long silent moment,
T.C. reached up and clasped a hand over LaCroix'. All he could feel
was sorrow for this man, this vampire, who might very well be his own
killer before the night was through.
LaCroix opened his eyes and stared at T.C.'s hand in something
akin to amazement, and then meeting T.C.'s eyes, he wrenched his hand
aside, turned away and spoke in a low voice, finishing the tale. "I
took the stake from him. He knelt down and took her hand in his, and I
thrust the stake through his back, through his heart, and freed him
from his pain."
He walked to the door, leaned against it and was silent.
T.C. sat down again in amazement. Nothing was as it seemed.
Nothing. No murder then, really, but love gone awry. Fate. An
accident in the heat of passion cost Natalie her life. Nick had chosen
to follow rather than continue his empty, hollow existence without her.
And LaCroix had given his son release from the pain he could no longer
bear. And now LaCroix could no longer bear the pain himself of what he
had done out of love. It was a tragedy, set in motion centuries ago,
that had yet to end, if T.C. were to judge by the raw pain that had
been released tonight in this room.
What could T.C. possibly say? I'm sorry? You did the right
thing? Not hardly. He didn't know what to say. He hardly even knew
what to think. He decided to sit tight and see what happened next. He
was in way over his head.
LaCroix turned away from the door, saturnine and urbane once
more, as if the last hour had never occurred. It was as if the
emotional, uncontrolled outburst had never happened. LaCroix had
resumed his cool, controlled persona, slipped back inside his hard,
tough shell. T.C. stood and licked his lips nervously. LaCroix
watched and his lips curved into something that made T.C.'s skin crawl.
He supposed it was a smile, but he felt like he had just become
dessert.
LaCroix was suddenly standing nose to nose with him again.
T.C. gritted his teeth and wished LaCroix would quit doing that. It
was unnerving how a vampire could move so fast.
"This," LaCroix said softly, menacingly, "should never have
happened," and raised a hand. T.C. felt his senses sway again. He
felt woozy. Uncertain. Was he going to lose his life now? And then
somewhere in the back of his head T.C. heard Emily Weiss saying: 'I
think he took my memories away...'
"Don't," T.C. said, his voice sounding far away inside his own
head.
His heart beat loud...tha-thump...tha-thump.
LaCroix stopped, intrigued. "Don't, what?"
"Take ... my ... memories."
"So, you have been doing your homework," LaCroix said softly.
"You do know far too much for your own good, Detective."
T.C. stood there swaying, trying to pull his wooly brains
together. Everything seemed to be floating. "What's ... the ...
point?"
LaCroix narrowed his gaze and let his hand drop. "Elucidate,"
he commanded.
T.C. felt the heaviness evaporate. He shook his head and
pushed his hair back. "Man, that feels weird," he said. He met
LaCroix' intense, demanding gaze.
"What's the point of getting it out of your system, if you then
wipe my memory?" T.C. said in exasperation. "That's the whole point--
to share it. If I lose the memory, then you haven't shared it. You
haven't gotten it out of your system. You've accomplished nothing.
It's good therapy to know there is someone out there who understands.
Who you can talk to."
LaCroix laughed, amused. "Why would I ever talk to you,
Davis?"
T.C. blinked. "I don't know. Why did you talk to me tonight?
You could have walked away. You could have made me forget we'd met at
the memorial. But you didn't. Maybe it's because you're carrying
around more pain that you can bear. Maybe it's because you knew I
cared--really cared--that's why."
LaCroix' gaze turned colder at T.C.'s bold words.
"Hey. It's just a theory," T.C. said spreading his hands and
shrugging. "Whatever the reason, you needed to say it. And maybe
you'll need to again someday. Maybe not, but just knowing that there
is someone out there willing to listen and, keep their mouth shut about
it...it's like medicine." T.C. frowned, "At least I think that's the
way it works. Besides," he finished cheerfully, "I'll be dead in an
eyeblink or two, anyway."
LaCroix was silent. Then his expressive face curved again into
the barest whisper of a smile. "And that's a reason to let you walk
away?"
"Maybe not in your eyes, but I'm only asking for the chance to
be trusted. Have I ever betrayed your secret? Nick's secrets? Have
any of us? No, and we never will. This way we can put it to bed, and
tell Natalie's family she's dead. And you, maybe you can forget the
pain and remember that he did..." T.C. broke off at the look in
LaCroix' eye. Maybe he should have quit sooner. He never did know
*when* to quit.
LaCroix examined him, and T.C. felt like a bug under a
microscope at the intensity of it.
"I like you. You would make a good vampire," LaCroix said
suddenly.
T.C. felt sweat break out on his forehead.
"No?"
T.C. shook his head. "Got a wife and kids."
"Pity."
"One thing I would like, though," T.C. said hesitantly.
LaCroix raised an eyebrow, while his eyes lingered on T.C.'s
neck as if he still hadn't given up the idea of a new convert...or
perhaps a midnight snack.
"Where are they?"
LaCroix' face darkened, "Why? Looking for proof?"
"Uh, no. Just want to bury them."
"They are buried. Together. I burned their bodies. Nicholas
would have appreciated it. A Knight's funeral."
"Then there's nothing that would show anything unusual about
Knight, is there?" T.C asked.
"No."
"Then let us bring them home, bury Dr. Lambert where her family
can find her."
"No. Too many questions will be asked."
"Can I at least go there?"
"You are quite tenacious, aren't you?"
T.C. grinned, suddenly feeling moderately comfortable with
LaCroix.
"Their ashes are buried in the church cemetery in Brabant. It
seemed fitting that he should be buried next to his sister, Fleur."
"Brabant?" T.C. asked, not sure where LaCroix was referring to.
"Brabant. North of Antwerp, in Belgium. It is his home."
"Oh," T.C. said faintly.
LaCroix walked away suddenly invigorated, as if he had cleansed
himself of a heavy burden. He turned and looked back at T.C. with an
odd smile. "Perhaps I will take you up on your offer. Sometime..."
T.C. smiled. "He wouldn't want you to be in pain."
LaCroix' smile twisted into a sneer. "Don't be so sure of that,
mortal."
T.C. shook his head. "If he called you his best friend, he
would want you to have peace."
LaCroix said nothing but looked around slowly and then met
T.C.'s eyes once again. "Perhaps." Then abruptly, "Very well, keep
your memories, much good they will do you."
T.C. nodded, unable to believe how much condescension LaCroix
was showing. He knew without a doubt that under any other
circumstances he would be dead, or his memory in shreds. A little
therapy was good even for an ancient, powerful, lonely vampire, it
seemed. Either that or he was the luckiest SOB in the world.
LaCroix added a warning. "You and your little co-
conspirators..."
"Yes?"
"Be very, very careful about what you say and do in tying up
your loose ends. One wrong word, one hint of what happened here in the
wrong quarters...and you *will* die. All of you."
"Scout's honor," T.C. said solemnly.
LaCroix watched him, his head tilted. "Let it go and nothing
will happen to you. He would have wanted it that way," he said
finally, softly.
"So," T.C. said slowly, "it was you that wrote the letter."
LaCroix let a chilly smile touch his lips. He quirked an
eyebrow. "Remember, I'll crucify you if you talk out of turn, mortal."
Cruel amusement crossed his face.
He turned suddenly and took a deep breath. He looked around
the loft, and his gaze was far away, his mind in other times and
places. Perhaps, T.C. thought, he was remembering other moments that
had been better than the ones of that last terrible night.
LaCroix knelt and touched the floor and bowed his head. He was
silent for a long time. T.C. waited quietly, honoring his pain.
"He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon
his like again, (2)" LaCroix said at last, sorrow coloring his voice as
he mourned his beloved son. The words hung in the air, and T.C.
finally identified them as a quote from Hamlet and smiled in agreement.
LaCroix stood and his gaze met T.C.'s once more. The harsh
and icy gaze was muted as if the brittle anger had been lanced. T.C.
couldn't say why or how he knew it, but he knew that LaCroix was more
at peace with himself. So, T.C. realized, was he. Their eyes locked
in understanding. And then LaCroix was gone.
T.C. stood alone in the quiet of Knight's loft and listened to
the silence. He was alive, and with memories intact. Adrenaline
rushed through him making him feel weak. His head hurt, his throat was
bruised, his arm felt broken, but he had never been so glad to be
alive. All he had to do now, was find a way back to his car and get
home to his wife.
The thought of Julie was a light shining through an incredible
darkness. Julie. She wasn't a widow. He was alive and he was going
home. If he could figure out how to get out of here... He looked
around the loft in astonishment that it was so quiet after all the
turbulence of the last hour.
He had his answers, it was finished. He knew the truth; he
could walk away at last. The truth had made him free. Healing could
begin for all. For T.C., Joe, Scott, Natalie's family, and even ...
LaCroix. It was time. Past time.
He limped around the room extinguishing candles and picking up
the last in his hand opened the door to the stairs. He looked back
into the room where the most remarkable experience of his life had
occurred and felt a tear slip down his face for all that had been lost
here. Love, life, hope.
And yet perhaps not. Perhaps more had been found than lost.
Knight had faith that there was something beyond this world, that he
would be with his Natalie. Perhaps he was. And LaCroix...he had found
some kind of peace and acceptance tonight for his actions. He thought
of LaCroix' final quote. Interesting choice--it said volumes about
LaCroix and his love for his son, Nick Knight.
Joe Reese had once said that Knight had made a difference to a
lot of people. T.C. could at last agree with that. There had never
been anyone like Nick Knight. Whether you thought of him as a vampire
or a man, there had been no one like him. Ever. The world was a
lesser place without him. T.C. would like to have known him.
He stood at the door feeling a deep sorrow for all that had
happened here. It seemed only right to end the play, so T.C. spoke
into the loft, "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"(3)
The loft seemed filled with a quiet peaceful silence.
T.C. shut the door and left the loft alone once more in
darkness.
Fini
(1) Macbeth, Act 3, Scene 2
(2) Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2
(3) Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2
Author's notes:
When I finished Shadows and Ghosts, Jules wrote me and said
that I couldn't leave LaCroix out there like that--suffering. I began
to wonder if I could write a story about LaCroix and his reaction to
what happened that night in the loft. I contemplated for a long time
on what he might do and who he would go to. I realized that if he
couldn't talk to anyone about Divia in 2000 years, he wasn't exactly
going to be able to talk about Nick, either. I couldn't see him going
on about it to any other vampire. In fact, I saw him only giving
Janette a bare-bones account on inquiry. Talk about his feelings, not
hardly. In the end I realized he would have to talk about it to
someone who wasn't a threat, wouldn't be around for the long-haul, and
yet really and truly cared about Nick. That led me to my character
T.C. Even LaCroix needs to talk, and given a one-in-a-million chance
encounter with someone like T.C., I thought he'd go for it. I think
he started it with the idea that he could kill or wipe T.C.'s memory
when it was over, never imagining how events would fall out. You may
agree or disagree. As someone once said 'Your mileage may vary.'
I hope you enjoyed the story. I'd love to hear your thoughts
on it. Yes, I know, no one really likes to think it ended this way,
but still, I find it contains a great deal of closure.
Finally, my deepest thanks to T.C. for granting me use of his
first name and personality for my character. And also for not
accepting the fact that he had been laid off and after 18 months
coming back to work here at E&S. Now he's just across the hall and in
the same group I am. All that wonderful paranoia and crazy ideas are
just fomenting all kinds of creative ideas in me. (But don't tell him
I said so ).
End Part 7
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